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Finale in flames

Tags: Shavyak,  Rukhet,  Hrodwyn,  Vrutha,  Brev,  Grox,  Neleth

Short Summary: Shavyak is dragged back into the orcish camp with Bardings and Dwarves hot on his trail. Battle ensues as Hrodwyn and the King's Men tackle orcs, wargs and even a troll!
Date (real-life): 2013-03-03
Scene Location: Mirkwood Forest's Eastern Edge
Date (in-game): May 3058
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Clear
Mirkwood Forest's Eastern Edge

The sound of flowing water reaches your ears from some point in the north and east. Otherwise, the forest is strangely quiet save for the cool spring breeze rustling the leaves. In the full light of day you can see the sparkling blue line of the Celduin, the River Running, some ways to the northeast. To the west, and south west, a few paths lead off into the depths of the forest. But these are no more than game trails and hardly likely to lead to the other side of this great forest.

Steam rises from the top layer of the forest in the dusk cool spring air. It then dissipates into the clear blue sky warmed by the sun.

Obvious exits:

Dale-Lands Time and Weather Service

Real Time: Sun Mar 03 20:57:37 2013 MST

Dale-Lands Time:
Trewsday, night on a clear spring's day, May 2 of 3058

From the north and east a calamitous noise of jingling steel and unhappy beast comes closer by the second. A horse, quite unhappily at full gallop, drags a much less happy Shavyak across the countryside - his foot caught in the stirrup.

Certainly his trail is followed.

Rukhet hears a combination of bass bellowing and hoofbeats of irregular cadence. She climbs up on a stump to look. Apparently, Shavyak's trying to ride, but nobody would give him riding lessons.

Rukhet's wanted a horse for a long time. She still wants a horse, and now that she has Silent Night, maybe she could actually keep one uneaten.

So she leaps forward as the animal charges by, grabs the reins and -- being intrinsically coordinated -- vaults into the saddle and pulls back to slow the animal down.

The horse is not happy with yet another orc's scent in his nostrils, but he slows down and starts dancing in confusion.

Among the soldiers is a large band led by Lieutenant Hrodwyn of Karath. This hard group holds its weapons close, swords and shields prepared to deal further defeat to the orcs. And the Lieutenant herself is at the head, leading these strong men with her serious eyes scanning the depths of the half-dark.

Sitting by himself to the far side of the camp is the newest member of the Silent Night squad. His head is bowed in concentration, as he is fletching some new arrows to replace the ones he spent on a recent raid. Vrutha has gotten off on the wrong foot with some of the other Uruk-hai, they are always growling and grumbling, and Vrutha can not stand complainers.

Hearing a commotion from across the camp, he looks up and notices an orc being drug behind a horse. Vrutha grimaces at this site, he has never seen use in the damned beast besides eating them. Then in complete awe, he watches as his Captain reigns in the horse in one movement and mounting it. Then a sudden smell catches his attention....."Man-flesh."

The flickering light of the Barding's torches falls glints on spear-tip as well as on sword-blade - and on one who perhaps is glad to be on foot and not ahorse. Previous skirmishes have seen enough thinning in the ranks that one who can hold a spear and hold position without /too/ much complaint is accepted with few enough questions asked. Thus it is that Brev marches today amidst a small company of footsoldiers, swarthy features grim with unspoken tension and an odd look of disquiet in his eyes - though what might have occasioned that it's hard to tell.

As the cavalry split neatly in twain to flank the orcish camp the drumlike thudding of shorter legs marching at high speed reveals that the Menfolk's Dwarvish allies will not be left out of this night's work.

Heavily armored and armed, Shavyak is bruised all over from his lengthy trip across the land - on his back. The longbow is shattered, his arrows are lost. The war-drum will need retuning and repair - serviceable only as a shield this day. He kicks at the dirt, "Shoulda know'ed better than to try my feet on that thing - but you look good up there." He forces a toothy smile to Rukhet, adding, "But I don't think nobody'll be smilin tonight. I'm sure I done brought the whole land of these Men followin me."

Dusting himself off still, finding his sword still in place, he looks to the north from whence he cames. Torchlight. The scent of men, and the bearded ones. "Nope, won't have no friends if we gets outta here alives." His demeanor falls.

The commotion grows in the east, speaking of the trials of Orcs and Men. A cacophony of armour-clad Uruk-Hai bouncing along half-beside and half-behind a horse is the first alert to the growing tension within the Orcish campsite. As the sound of the soldiers of Dale begins to reverberate through the valley, it soon becomes clear that a battle is brewing amidst the camp, and those approaching.

Within the eastern edges of the Mirkwood, obscured by some trees and perhaps noticed only by the occasional Uruk-Hai who forraged wood within the boughs of the forest, lies an enormous boulder that may appear out of place to those who know the boughs of the forest. And as the noise continues to grow, alerting any within hearing distance to the approaching conflict, so too does a stirring seem to appear, followed by a rumble of the earth below. Following that, silence returns to the mysterious woods to the west, leaving those without to wonder upon the meaning of the sounds.

Rukhet slings her weight carefully the dancing, snorting horse, and slides to the ground. She's not going to try riding for the first time in a fight, but she keeps a hand on the reins and eyes the horse. "Yeah, I hear them. Why do we keep doing this, anyway?" -- and then she hears the rumble. The animal's eyes roll in panic, and her nostrils widen. "/Now/ what?" Rukhet makes soothing noises and leads the mare in among a grove of pines. There's little underbrush below: the forest floor is always shaded, making easy walking for a horse.

[Vrutha(#13041)] The cloaked Uruk-hai quickly places the arrow he was finishing up into his quiver, before scrambling to his feet. Vrutha quickly grabs his hunting knife from his belt, again he gets a whiff of men along with another smell he believes is the small bearded ones. Making his way towards his captain, Vrutha nudges some other Uruks he passes and whispers, "Men are here." Then standing near the horse, Shavyak, and Rukhet, he awaits their orders. He has no plans on dying this night.

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] The men of Dale continue their night march, bold and breathless, eyes keenly staring forth into moonlit terrain. All of a sudden, a shout rises -- "A strange trail! The enemy is near!" With some brief confusion, the troops change their path and begin to advance towards their enemy. Swords are drawn, shields are prepared, bows are readied -- the King's Men have come for a fight.

Along with the rest, Hrodwyn pushes forward at the front of the lines. Her expression, and the visages of those around her, rise in rage and excitement, preparing to pursue the enemy until the end.

And throughout the ranks, cries of "Advance!" echo.

Many rhythms compete to rumble the ground about him - a few odd rumbles trouble Shavyak even more than what must be oncoming cavalry. "Did ya feel that?" he asks of the others. "Maybe it's Flaguz? I sure.." he cuts short - the forces are coming quickly. And numerous.

From the eaves of the woods the secret soldiers in darkened armor without insignia pour forth ready. Zonk, foul Warmaster, stands with the Warg captain, saying, "Steady your beasts. When it is time we shall achieve our exit."

Never does any creature with free will have plans on dying. Yet, plans are oft thwarted, and tonight plans will be broken for many upon the field of battle. Within the forest, another noise sounds. A loud creaking eminates through the woods, before a cracking sound commences. It lasts but a moment, then the ground below trembles as a loud 'CRASH' erupts from the within the depths of darkness shrouding anything beyond the treeline.

Rukhet says to Vrutha from the trees, "Take cover and shoot from ambush, if none of ours are in the way. If you're any good with a sword, you can fight when they close. But we don't have any stake in holding this turf. Run if it's smart."

The horse panics at the crash, and Rukhet has a time holding on.

When the mare settles, Rukhet leads her farther into the wood, away from the noise. She starts to loop the reins around a tree. Then she lowers her hand and grimaces.

And if I don't come back?

She sighs, loosens the saddle's girth and takes it off, then slips the bridle over the animal's head. "Stay here," she says. Not that /that/ will probably work.

Rumblings? There are plenty of those: the hollow drum of hoofbeats, the steady tramp of Mannish and Dwarven feet. Thus it is that that mysterious stirring in the woods goes almost unnoticed by the Free Peoples. Almost. Standard orders have the footsoldiers fanning out, wary no doubt of the possibility of orcish ambush.

At the cry from up ahead, the foremost units pick up the pace and those further behind are left to scan the menacing trees for any sign of a trap. Amongst those on the edge of the mass of eager warriors is Brev, pushing forward with the rest but muttering sourly to a companion, "It's bloody night. Remind me again why this couldn't wait till daylight? And for Kiern's sake hold that thing steady." The streaming light from the torches wavers like water as the torchbearers jog with the rest, and almost breaks as that loud 'CRASH' is heard. Brev's mutterings fade to silence as his spear-point is aimed toward the disturbance.

"This be all my fault," Shavyak laments. "Clean getaway was had, cept I had to open my fool mouth and volunteer to go make one last trouble showin with them snaga." He kicks at the dirt again and looks to his left, to find that Rukhet has already disappeared. "Yup, no friends tonight," he concedes, readying his jagged black blade. "Only you, my sticky friend," he speaks to the sword.

He paces forward whether the soldiers join him or not - honor is at stake. And again he must buy his companions as much time as possible.

[Vrutha(#13041)] With his orders given, Vrutha makes his way into the trees. He is not much of a climber, but there is a small tree that is forked like a "V" a few feet off the ground. Climbing up into this fork he slowly removes his bow from his back. Checking slowly to make sure it is in good working order, he takes his time. Now is no time to get flustered from all of the noise he hears approaching. After finding the bow satisfactory, Vrutha pulls an arrow from his bow and notches it, waiting for the first view of man or dwarf to appear.

As the lines of Men and Orcs begin to close, a rustling of treelimbs is heard within the forest. A steady rhythm of 'THUM.... THUM.... THUM....' sounds from within the depths. As it comes closer, the trees seem to stir, as though trembling at the very sound that approaches. Then, as though the forest had expelled the monstrosity, two trees part to reveal a massive being striding through, a wickedly curved double-bladed war axe within its enormous, stony hand.

Standing easily thrice the height of any man or Uruk upon the field, the great beast lets forth a bellowing rumble of laughter from deep within its stony being. "So!" he roars. "You have come to face your Doom, have you?" His terrifying, red-eyed gaze sweeps across all gathered - Men, Dwarves, and Uruks alike - and his lips curl into a wicked, hungry grin. "Come, those that wish for death! Face my axe, if you dare!"


Rukhet leaves the horse reluctantly and makes her way back to the forest's edge. She hesitates as she hears the racket -- what? But it doesn't sound like Flaguz. She crouches behind a sumac at the edge of the field. There's a group of torchbearing humans in bowshot, and no orcs nearby yet. So she draws.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Troll! Dwarven forces can be disciplined, but not all those here are from the famed Silver Axes. As the rampaging beast makes himself known a number of the Dwarves break off from the main thrust toward the orcish camp and begin to trot that way, axe and hammer eager for blood.

The remainder, the core, press forward to support Hrodwyn's troops.

Others are nearer to the troll, however, and decidedly less eager. All words flee Brev as the forest he'd been facing is split in two by a double-bladed axe, and there's a decidedly greyish cast to his swarthy features. He of all men here knows how tough trollish hide can be. Still, there's a chance the beast might be distracted ... Even as the torch falls from one Dale-lander's hand to burn unattended on the muddy ground he braces his spear with both hands and dances forward in a swift run that will hopefully take him past and out of harms reach before the behemoth has time to react, jabbing his pin-like weapon at one huge ankle.

You attack Grox with your Spear...

Your attack against Grox mildly wounds him!

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] A look of fascinated horror arises among many of the soldiers in the main body of the King's Men -- surprise, fear, anger, anxiety intermixed in that messy intermingling of emotion that arises at edge of battle. Still, the cries of Corporals rally the troops, who for now press forward in the direction of the enemy.

With series of directions barked into the night, Hrodwyn directs a sizeable force to engage the troll, and larger part to press onwards to fight the other foes. And so the King's Men get to it but face the sudden sting of arrows. The Lieutenant herself, still among the lead of the troops preparing to engage the orcs, fortunately avoids an arrow, a lucky fact of fate. With a new fury in her expression, her pace picks up while she prepares for battle.


Rukhet misses the Man she was aiming at, and then watches in astonishment as he runs /forward/ to the troll. Rukhet would have been running in the other direction. One thing: they make 'em brave wherever he comes from. If the Man falls, Rukhet will do her best to make sure his heart is only eaten by warriors and not snagas, as befits a courageous enemy.

And he's near the troll. The troll might not /notice/ if she hit it with an arrow, but she doesn't want to annoy the huge thing. So she finds another target.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Vrutha(#13041)] From his place in the trees, Vrutha can see fighting in the dim light. As he pulls back his bowstring, he hears a load ripping and a roar, that can only be a troll. His hand is frozen for a second as he watches in amazement as the dwarves advance on the behemoth of a creature. Then getting his senses back, he takes at aim at the nearest individuals and lets an arrow fly at the army of men.

The sight of the humans scurrying about before him elicits a deep, rumbling chuckle from the fell beast even as one such darts forward, his spear managing to pierce the rocky hide at his ankle. Yet, the wound is far from deep, and Grox merely shifts his leg, laughter spilling from his lips now. Other human weapons sweep in at the mighty beast, but most are ineffectual, bouncing off the scarred stoneskin of his legs. "You think you can defeat me so easily?" he bellows, chuckling darkly. "You have yet to face the terror of my axe!"

It is then that his red orbs shift to face the man who attempts to rush past and out of range of his mighty weapon, and his wicked grin grows. "You shall be the first to fall!" he roars at Brev, grasping his mighty axe in two hands. Bringing its great head back alongside his right shoulder, Grox swiftly brings the instrument of destruction in a downward diagonal slash, aiming to cleave Brev from shoulder to opposite hip.

Grox attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he misses!

Captains and Lieutenants of the Orc's power structure try in vain to assemble order in the ranks of troops as they push forward to purchase their escape with the death of man, woman, and dwarf. Along the edge of the woods the Warg-riders remain steady at their Warmaster's command - but no longer silent. The Troll's mighty roar illicits a chilling chorus of howls more treacherous than a simple pack of wolves.

Shavyak shifts the remaining circle of what was his war-drum into position on his arm, coming at last within striking distance of the pressing humans. Grateful for the Troll's distraction from his cursed dwarve enemies, he chooses a target. "You, pretty pretty," he bellows in the chaos to Hrodwyn, "Don't it beat the boulder to see you's again." He pokes playfully at the familiar prey.

Shavyak attacks Hrodwyn with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Arrows are flying thick and fast now in both directions as the Barding archers raise their own bows in response to the orcish deluge. More than one ugly uruk shaft has found its mark in human flesh, as choked-off cries testify.

For Brev and those who had been with him, aid cannot come too early. With both men (who have the strength of numbers, however reluctant) and Dwarves (who have strength of arm if not, in this case, of wits) approaching fast, it's unlikely that those unlucky few who were nearest to troll will have to 'distract' it much longer. Meanwhile ...

Brev's running feet carry him just out of range of the troll's axe, so that it cleaves empty air. Panting heavily, he nevertheless attempts speech. "Who said anything about 'defeat'?" he enquires, very hoarsely. "Escape was the general idea." Then, to those of his comrades nearby he yells out, "Don't stand still. Make it spin!" Fitting action to words, he attempts to dart behind Grox for a second attempt at that mighty ankle.

You attack Grox with your Spear...

Grox dodges your attack.

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] Many shouts of men pierce through the night as the contingent of Dale cavalry that had broken away earlier charges the orcs and troll from their left flank. These men, hale and hearty, proud on their mighty mounts, wield blades with complete confidence, covering the distance quickly. The very earth quivers and then quakes as they pass over it.

Closer at hand, Lieutenant Hrodwyn of Karath, unhappiness filling her face, engages the same enemy as before, the never silent Shavyak. Sword ready, she shifts her position, dodging her enemy's deadly attack, and returns her own, wrath putting weight into the blow.

Hrodwyn attacks Shavyak with her Longsword, but Shavyak parries the attack with his Short Broadsword!

The warriors of Men once again assail the massive troll, yet once again the stoneskin proves adequate defense against the weapons of Men, while the Dwarves remain still out of reach of the mighty beast. As the mounted troops sweep past Grox, the creature pays them little heed as their weapons draw sparks from his stoneskin, instead focused on Brev as he darts past his left side.

Shifting his weight, bringing his left leg back, the beast ensures the spear fails to find purchase upon his skin once again. Loosing a wicked laugh, eyes alighting with premature victory, the troll roars, "You may escape, little man." Surprisingly articulate for one of his kind, he continues, "Yet, you will not go unscathed." Even as he speaks these words, Grox pivots upon his right leg, bringing his left back behind him and turning him towards Brev. In the same motion, the massive creature thrusts the butt end of his axe - a wickedly spiked tip - for the man of Dale's back, aiming betwixt his shoulderblades.

Grox attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

"Now, boys, spin in and back out upon their horses. Chew them up, and meet us south. We'll be watching for you. The lot know their orders, now you have yours," Zonk speaks, cracking his knuckles. As a storm exploding the twenty mountain wolves attack forward - each rider a bolt of speed and fury blazing past the troll and into the cavalry. In the wild barking most foot-soldiers remember their orders: run in honor to fight for the glory of their Master on a new day.

A solid number do not - engaged and enraged in blood lust. Among these, Shavyak continues his personal quest, taunting the she-human, "Rings and dings a dosey, break yer little nosey, poke 'em, choke 'em, they'll all fall down!" He stabs again towards her middle.

Shavyak attacks Hrodwyn with his Short Broadsword and mildly wounds her!

Grox's words prove a premonition (who knew trolls could foresee?) Brev is fast - he's always been fast - but not quite enough. The spiked tip of that ugly axe catches the man a blow that may be glancing by troll standards but is enough to split studded leather like butter and leave a long, welling gouge across Brev's upper back. His left arm drops away from the spear as an articulate cry escapes him. Breathing raggedly, he thrusts the spear one-handed at whatever he can reach in that mass of stony flesh - likely a calf - as though he were fending off a barge from the dock. Perhaps in this case he's the barge.

Of course, he's not the only one striving to do the great beast damage. His fellows are all around, sword and spear whistling through the night ... and then hopeful cries of 'Baruk Khazad' echo on the air as those Dwarves who'd pinpointed the troll finally draw near enough to raise blades against it. What's that saying - too many cooks spoil the broth?

You attack Grox with your Spear...

Your attack against Grox mildly wounds him!

[Neleth(#11788)] Lost! It was days, perhaps a little over a week ago that Neleth the dwarf went into a patch of woods looking for an orcish archer. And now he is here and his problems have not changed. In fact, for this dwarf, his problems are worse. He had come out of those woods the next morning an angry dwarf, haven't found neither hair nor hide of that archer who had been shooting at him. Now, as he charges with the most stout of heart of his kinsmen, he has had to run through /more/ arrows. "Bah! This is the last of this, cousins!" Armed with his sword and shield, clothed in mail of dwarven (and thus, quailty) make, Neleth meets battle as many of his kinsmen do the same. Horses are dodged, men are avoided as this dwarf, and others, seek to find battle with their age-old foe.

Once more, Grox assails the Dalesman, and this time his stroke succeeds, splitting leather and flesh alike. The wild swing from Brev catches a crack in Grox's stoneskin near the wrist, and he grunts a little. Yet, he still has that large grin upon his lips even as the Dwarves sweep over him. Before he is surrounded, the massive Olog-Hai takes a two-handed swing of his axe, cleaving through the air where Dwarves are and have been even as he moves back towards the trees from whence he came. Red eyes focus upon Brev, and with a smirk of pure evil, Grox rumbles, "I shall see you again, human. And you shall not be so fortunate next time!"

And with that, the mighty troll turns and is gone, disappearing once again within the boughs of Mirkwood.

Hrodwyn's armor accepts a hit from Shavyak, metal clanging upon impact with metal. Cringing, the Lieutenant cries out in anger more than pain, and her retaliation is rapid, deliberate and without delay. While side-stepping, she swings her sword in a upwards diagonal motion with a mighty shout, eyes fiercely focused on her enemy.

Hrodwyn attacks Shavyak with her Longsword, but she misses by a mile.


The orcish archer, or at least /an/ orcish archer, is again hiding in the woods. When she spots the dwarves, she creeps forward, stands, and draws again...The troll has gone now, and who knows why?

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's bowshot hits Neleth, moderately wounding him.

[Vrutha(#13041)] The young Uruk who is hiding in the small tree has been shooting arrows for some time now, unable to see how many actually find their mark, Vrutha continues to shoot a steady stream of them at the enemy. Until suddenly he realizes he is out of the blasted things. Slowly lowering down from his spot he throws his bow over his back and retreats farther back in the woods, using all the scouting abilities he knows, he tries to sneak around to get a better view of the fighting going on.

The Wargs unleash outwards, and past the cavalry with only minimal clashing directly upon them - but they return inwards again. Their methods a disciplined lack of order, they busy the cavalry in repeated passes.

Zonk, bemused, steps closer to the edge of the trees. His guards press upon him. "Gather the engineers, we need fire upon our archers bows. Pass the munitions quickly unto the bow-wielders, their quivers are spent by now," he orders, and the calls for fire are quickly answered.

Bright polished steel zips by Shavyak's face gleaming in the moonlight, but unbloodied by his flesh. "Chickery snickery snock," he sings anew, "the mouse were on the block. The beast chopped one, he came for fun, Chickery snickery snock!" His sword bites forward again.

Shavyak attacks Hrodwyn with his Short Broadsword and moderately wounds her!

Gone! Disappointment is writ on the face of more than one Dwarf as that hated trollish enemy flees beneath the trees at a speed they can't match. Still, there are plenty of other foes to engage. Axe and pick are bloodied on orc-flesh instead of troll-flesh, and who's to say that's any the lesser? Stoically, the doughty Dwarves fight on. Howls and neighs from the surroundings hint that the struggle out past the marges of the orcish camp is no less bloody.

Brev, for his part, is showing few signs of disappointment that the axe-wielding giant is gone. He leans on the spear-haft for a moment and starts to sink groundward until a black-feathered shaft whistling past his head courtesy of some skilled orcish archer (perhaps even Vrutha?) discourages him from that idea. Gritting his teeth, he lets himself be sucked back into the melee, fighting mostly one-handed.

And swing. And step. And another stupid horse! Neleth is unable to move his way around the battlefield easily, and most of his fighting is brief - sometimes interrupted by a horse trampling by, or by other dwarves swarming his foe. Whatever it may be, the dwarf can hardly find himself an orc for his weapon to make contact with. Unfortunately for him, an orcish arrow finds its way just find to that softer flesh just underneath his shoulder. Dwarven mail gives way to the barbed tip somehow, and the arrow holds true in his skin and muscle. He gives up a shout as his shield arm raises at the pain, and his movements stop. His eyes go to that arrow, glaring at it throught clenched teeth before he swipes at it with his sword, cutting it in half. His eyes are pained and narrowed - but, being as he is in the middle of a battle field, he cannot do to be distracted for too long. Wrags and Uruks are now near, and despite his injury, the dwarf continues his way forward.


Finally, a hit! Rukhet grins toothily to herself, and reaches into her quiver for another goose-fletched shaft. She breathes deeply, then pulls the bowstring back to the corner of her mouth again.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's bowshot hits Neleth, badly wounding him.

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] Hrodwyn's blade moves to intercept Shavyak's but the speedy orc gains the better of the battle -- he scores another hit. This one, more substantial than the last, slices into the Lieutenant's armor, allowing a sliver and then a stream of blood to emerge from her shoulder. Still, this soldier of Dale, this sober and serious defender, attacks once more, again raising her own weapon and slashing at her foe with the strength of mixed aggression and anguish.

Hrodwyn attacks Shavyak with her Longsword, but she misses by a hair.

"Those that remain upon the front have chosen glory over orders," Zonk speaks to his top guard, "Let them have it." The Hammer Company does love a good show of fire, and their sparks are catching quickly on oiled rags. With materials divided and torches spreading to light a barrage, these Engineers spread out among the edge of the woods seeking willing archers.

The Warg captain yells above the din, "Form up, lets punch some holes now!" Save the order for surprise, the men-folk never see it coming. Reigned masterfully by their smaller orc riders, the beasts become a wedge of teeth and claws ripping across the field.

"Smack and Bill went up a hill," Shavyak's nonsense continues in a fury, "To stoke the fire hotter!" He is buying time - if he should survive to enjoy it. Those fleeing south successfully regroup into formations to defend against pursuit, but do not slow their emboldened pace. Shavyak's testing blade zips left and right, and slashes forward.

Shavyak attacks Hrodwyn with his Short Broadsword, but Hrodwyn parries the attack with her shield!

[Neleth(#11788)] And... the end. Well, not the end of the battle, for sure. But it is the end of Neleth's ability to continue forward. That is, the end of his ability to walk futher. Afterall, how can one continue to walk while an arrow is sticking through his calf? Despite being in the midst of horses, dwarves and men alike - not to mention a few uruks, the dwarven ambassador might seem to have a large 'shoot arrow here' sign on his back. Or head. Whatever it may be, he moves barely more than a few feet forward before this second arrow makes its way through his skin and muscle, and the dwarf is dropped (not unlike a sack of potatoes, really... if the sack of potatoes was wearing armor and holding a sword). It may look much like he had tripped, perhaps, toppling forward over himself slightly. Regardless of what it looked like, the dwarf is now on the ground, his good hand clutching at the arrow sticking through his leg with his sword hand - that sword still being held onto. There is a yelling from him as he clutches it and, after breaking one end of that arrow off (the end with the feathers) he is left glaring at that wound. His eyes look around him - he is not stupid, there is still battle about. It would not do to be set upon by an orc now.


Rukhet's target is down. Excellent. With grim satisfaction, she turns away, and seeks another target. Yak's still engaged with that dangerous female warrior again -- Rukhet fingers the red scar on her throat, in memory. Can't shoot at her.

She scans the field, and her gaze lights on the dark fellow who charged the troll. She nocks another arrow.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Vrutha(#13041)] Watching the battle unfold, Vrutha is silent as the night until he see an engineer passing by with more ammunition for his bow. Taking as many arrows as he can he then uses a torch to light the arrows on fire. Then without a second thought he shoots his arrow towards the army.

The Dale-lands cavalry are suffering from the depradations of wargs and riders - how can they not? Still, they have discipline on their side. Fewer in number now, they group more tightly and long spears glisten in the hands of many as they seek to make the wolfriders pay for each drop of blood in kind.

Brev is fighting now as part of a little knot of Dale-landers, spear jabbing at anything that comes close. An arrow whistles past his head and he mutters a guttural curse. The man behind him does not curse, his voice choked off by another, different shaft.

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] As the warg riders charge through the Dale-landers, the casualties mount, despite measures take to halt the devestation. Some holes in the lines appear, impossible to hide from sight, opportunities for orcs to escape. Even more gaps arise, though potentially perilous, as the arrows of fire strike amongst the men and occasionally ignite the dry grass of the battlefield.

But, for Shavyak, no such flight is foreseeable. Hrodwyn of Karath, hard in battle, bashes her shield against her opponent's sword and pushes that weapon aside. Seizing the sudden gap, she swiftly slashes at his neck, deadly sword of death aimed for the kill.

Hrodwyn attacks Shavyak with her Longsword, but she misses by an arm's length.

"When we return, the rabble will have new tales of Zonk, their Warmaster," the arrogant leader speaks from safety beneath the eaves. He considers the numbers, "Scouts - safe within the woods; Engineers? The same. The warg-riders have waited long for their chance for blood; we shall lose some of their numbers, but their pride is fierce and they shall celebrate counting their dead. We may lose Shavyak and the drummers - a pity, for a champion to fall, though I shall not miss his inane warblings." He issues the signal for the barrage of flaming arrows to re-double.

A giant pair of fiery lines divides the battle-field into four triangles. The fleeing footsoldiers disappear in the diversion farther south. The warg-riders continue ripping fiercely about the field in the north and eastern woods. Safely behind the blazing walls of the western triangle Zonk concludes with a zealous laugh, "They'll keep their lamp-oil better tucked away, shall we return to these lands whilst I breathe."

One half of a similar X is drawn on Shavyak's chest - Hrodwyn's blade slashing through his ring-mail, without altering his flesh. "Now draw me the other one," he declares, losing his verse, and stabbing a response.

Shavyak attacks Hrodwyn with his Short Broadsword, but Hrodwyn parries the attack with her shield!


Rukhet doesn't know what Zonk is saying, or who has retreated. She does know the warg riders haven't, and neither has Yak. So she takes another shot.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

Fire does not distinguish between man and orc, dwarf and warg. The night is brightly lit now, revealing that here the Men have the upper hand, there the wargs have torn a gap ...

The motion of the conflict brings Brev perilously close to one of those walls of flame. He shies away from it by instinct, jabs angrily at a small goblin-figure half-glimpsed and then another arrow flies by. Likely only the rippling distortion of the hot air saves him from a pierced shoulder; as it is the goose-fletched shaft passes scant inches from his ear. However, there's no time to think about such things: "Back," he mutters. "Got to get back." He ducks to pull a wounded fellow out of the way of the growing blaze, and around him others are doing the same.

[Hrodwyn(#12320)] Further chaos flies through the men of Dale as the fires grow fiercer, consuming land without compassion or compunction. And with these fires, new routes of escape emerge but also new fire-traps that will inevitably end some orcs.

Despite these dangers, Hrodwyn puruses her duel with Shavyak, using her shield to blunt her enemy's blow. She then launches another strike, slashing in compliance with the orc's request.

Hrodwyn attacks Shavyak with her Longsword, but Shavyak parries the attack with his Short Broadsword!


Dammit, dammit, dammit, Zonk. Like we /needed/ the field set ablaze, thinks Rukhet. The flames and the smoke are obscuring the field now. The wargs, fortunately, hate fire and are bearing their riders away whether the riders want to run or not.

Rukhet draws once more, and hopes the smoke doesn't panic her new horse.

Rukhet launches an arrow...

Rukhet's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

The smoke has advantages as well as disadvantage. Fewer of the orcish arrows can find targets now, giving the Men of Dale plenty of opportunity to hunt down those orcs remaining in the northern part of the cross. Opportunity, too, for other things. This time Brev does not so much as twitch at the whine of an arrow - if he's to die this night it's out of his hands. He simply continues to drag his comrade back out of the melee and then he's out of view and busy with other things: tying cloak-bandages, hacking off arrow-shafts ... anything that might help those wounded make it back to camp to have their injuries tended. His own hurt is forgotten for now.


Rukhet stops shooting. She can't see through the smoke and the flame; she lost track of Yak a while back, and just hopes he makes it out.

She draws back into the trees, and heads back to the area where she left the mare. The saddle and bridle are still there; the animal has fled the smoke. But Rukhet's a good tracker. She shoulders the tack and follows the crescent prints that sometimes show in the damp earth.

She wonders if the humans will succeed in putting the fire out soon. If they don't, there might not be any cover available, if the Isengarders ever come eastward again.

Zonk, what the hell were you thinking?

Rukhet searches around and finds some old arrows!

"The fuel should burn out momentarily," Zonk speaks, turning his attention away from the blazing night. "If that troll had stuck around, we would be lacking the ale for celebrating this victory properly," he adds, filling a tankard from the oak cask. He drinks deeply.

While brush and bramble smoke and burn, fire without control growing beyond design, the original walls of fire crumble. In the smoke Shavyak stands, forcing himself free from the latest contact of blade to blade with such emphasis that he teeters backwards. Precariously, yet upon his feet, he continues backwards, saying in his crude imitation of common, "Been burned up by my own kind, and cut up 'nuff by yers for this travelins. You go tell your tales, I'm gonna shake mine on off." He howls, in imitation of the wolves, as he flees towards the trees.

The surviving wargs release their pursuit and ride into the dark.

Hrodwyn is flung backwards with Shavyak's final push, and her landing is cushioned only by dry grass. Stunned a moment and still holding onto her weapon and shield, her jaw hangs slightly open -- and when ready for action again, her eyes urgently scanning her surroundings, though her enemy has already fled. Muttering something, she throws her sword against the ground and then grunts in aggravation, both fury and fire reflected in her eyes.

Date added: 2013-03-04 03:18:17    Hits: 193
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